


In Over My Head (She's On Your Mind)

by leiascully



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-04
Updated: 2008-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House knew she wasn't real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Over My Head (She's On Your Mind)

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-S5  
> A/N: This is based on what few **spoilers** I know for the end of Season Five: I'll admit I haven't watched an episode since the first third or so. Please forgive any poor interpretations. Happy [**smut_tuesdays**](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_tuesdays/) and more importantly, happy birthday, [**lissie_pissie**](http://lissie-pissie.livejournal.com/) and [**cynicalgrl**](http://cynicalgrl.livejournal.com/)! Title is from The Fray's "Cable Car".  
> Disclaimer: _House M.D._ and all related characters are the property of Shore Z, Bad Hat Harry, and Fox. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

House knew she wasn't real the minute she walked through the door, closing it carefully behind her.

"You're a hallucination," he told her, sitting up in his bed. As much as he was shelling out to the mental hospital, he'd have thought they'd have better mattresses.

"And you're an ass," Cuddy said calmly. "Just like every other day." She walked toward him. Definitely a hallucination - her heels were silent on the tile floor. She was wearing a suit, very tasteful, pearls and just a hint of cleavage. Her skirt cupped her ass like his hands wanted to, though.

"Why aren't you in the schoolgirl outfit?" he demanded.

She put her hands on her hips, standing by the edge of the bed. "It's your brain, House. You tell me."

"My brain wants a pity fuck," he said. "From an administrator with a guilty conscience."

She unbuttoned her jacket in a way that managed to be almost obscenely no-nonsense. She shrugged out of it, folded it once, and laid it over the foot of the bed. "Guess again."

"Apologetic sex is the hottest," he said. "All that pleading."

"It's too bad these beds don't come equipped with cuffs," she said absently, sitting down on the side.

"Twisted," he said with admiration.

"Practical," she said, shooting him a look. "You're a menace to yourself. House, I have to tell you something."

"Sorry, I'm only conversing through the medium of interpretive dance," he said. "Nude interpretive dance. Otherwise you lose all the nuance. It's like listening to an Australian accent."

She sighed. "Pay attention."

He leered at her. "Didn't they tell you? I'm out of my mind."

She sighed, and it was so ordinary that for a half-second, he almost felt homesick.

"Next time I'm going to hallucinate Amber or Foreman," he snarked, trying to regain his equilibrium. "At least they don't show up and try to seduce me with 'important messages'."

She smirked. "I'm not sure about that." Before he had time to think about that, she began to unbutton her blouse slowly.

"I thought this wasn't about sex," he said.

"In my experience, it's one of the few ways to get through to you," she said. "Especially now when I can't assign you clinic hours or interns. Lie down." The streetlight outside his window cast deep shadows over her cleavage and made her pale skin gleam. She slipped out of her shirt and undid the zipper on her skirt like she was undressing by herself with nobody watching, and somehow it managed to be incredibly sexy. His cock twitched and came to attention.

"Who knew that pretending not to give a damn would be so hot?" he asked. "Maybe you should have played hard to get all these years. I would have done you all the time."

She sighed again, skinned his shirt over his head, and pushed him down on the bed. "You've never known when to keep your mouth shut."

"That's why you keep coming back," he said.

"Lift your hips," she said, and dragged off his loose pajama pants and dropped them on the end of the bed with her suit. She reached for the clasp of her bra.

"Leave the pearls on," he said, and she smirked.

Her body was a work of art as she climbed on top of him, pearls swinging above her breasts and her hair a dark cloud around her head. For all he rode her about her outfits, she was gorgeous. He wondered what would happen if he painted this, with a few augmentations, during art therapy time, and then abruptly stopped thinking as she sank down over him. His hands gripped her hips of their own accord as his mind went blank. She leaned down, bracing herself on one arm. Her nipples grazed his chest, round and hard as her pearls.

"Pay attention," she said.

"Riding a guy's a good way to get his full attention," he said. "I commend you. I mean, there are other ways, but it's hard to communicate with your mouth that full."

She sat up partway and her pearls swung toward his chin. He caught them in his mouth, sucking on them. They were smooth and cool like her skin. She shifted her hips and he let go of the pearls, sucking for air instead. There was nothing cool about the way her cunt squeezed his cock: she was hot and wet and he was melting inside her. God, it had been too long since he'd gotten laid.

"Kiss me," he said, and she leaned down again, her mouth meeting his. She shifted over him, stretching to accomodate him, and he stroked her back and squeezed her ass. She felt real. She felt like his memories of her, taut and giving in all the right places. The way her body moved went deeper than memory, all the way down to his bones, to the prehistory of his hindbrain. He pushed up into her, relishing the way she sounded. She bit at his lips and he pushed harder, holding her hips down, grinding against her, and she pushed back. It was frantic; it was rough; he didn't give a damn, because she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and biological imperatives had taken over the minute she'd started stripping. When she broke the kiss to breathe, her eyes were fierce.

"Do it," she said. "Make me come."

"Workin' on it," he gasped, one hand slipping down her hip to find her clit. "Want to see that face. Bet you make the same one filling out paperwork."

She started to roll her eyes, but he moved his fingers and her body shivered, her head tipping back. The tendons stood out on her neck and her chest flushed and it was so goddamn sexy that he was going over the edge with her. Her inner muscles rippled around him and her legs trembled, clamped around his hips, and he was gone, choking on the antiseptic-scented hospital air, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs to keep from blacking out as the blood rushed in a tsunami to his brain, pleasure crashing over him.

"Jesus Christ," he said when he could breathe again. "Say it with sex. You should start a nationwide service."

She was collapsed on his chest, her skin slick with sweat against his. "You just don't get it, do you?" she murmured.

"I got _that_," he said.

"Idiot," she said.

"Yeah, it's good that my hallucinatory harlot of a boss has such a high opinion of me," he said.

"I told you to pay attention," she said, sitting up, shifting so that he slid out of her.

"You're a figment of my imagination," he said. "Thanks for the lay. I'll call you. Or not."

She bent down, her elbows pressing into his shoulders, until her mouth was as close to his ear as she could manage. "You miss me," she said into his neck.

 

"That's your secret message?" he asked, letting scorn creep into his voice.

"That's your sanity, House," she said. "You miss me."

 

"Yeah, right, you're my lifeline to the world of the mentally sound," he said, rolling his eyes. "Lisa Cuddy, my personal saviour."

She kissed his cheek, her eyes shinier than usual. "I'm just the messenger," she said.

He woke up sticky and alone.


End file.
